Seagulls cried faintly above cobbled streets of the Crème Republic. Mulled Juice Cookie stood atop a balustrade near the Grand Atrium, glass of vin chaud in hand, eyes tracing the silhouette of Mille-feuille House’s last cathedral, its arches soaring like prayers into the sky.

"Ah… the curvature of those buttresses. Elegant, yet inefficient. If only they’d reinforced the load-bearing struts with caramel alloy… this spire could’ve reached twice its height." He chuckles softly. "Though I suppose divinity prefers humility in architecture."